


Partition

by lameafpun



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Fluff, Other, Reader-Insert, doesn't take part at any particular point in the series, general silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: Chat's a good friend, the mystery of his identity and your own feelings on him aside. There are certain landmarks in any friendship and the Eiffel Tower is the physical mark for where you began to question the depth of the thoughts you had on your unlucky partner.Or: i saw this funny comment on Beyonce's mv and it inspired me to write this. can't find it anymore. this is so sad, alexa play despacito
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Reader, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95





	Partition

You gazed over Paris, the cool night breeze like a balm against your skin. Had you not been in the somehow superheated superhero outfit you would have shivered. Alas, it was time for your daily night patrol and, like always, it was peaceful and quiet. 

The sound of car horns blaring and people shouting rose to your position on the Eiffel tower (parkouring with the power of your miraculous was the best way to get up) and you decided to amend your previous statement.

It’s Paris on a Saturday, what did you expect?

You shrugged to yourself. Meh, for your purposes it may as well have been peaceful and quiet as a church on any day that wasn’t a holiday. No akumas, no violent crimes in the area, nothing. 

With a relieved sigh, you unslung your backpack and pulled out a beat up old iPod. Though the screen was cracked, it still worked well enough and by god you were going to get as much mileage out of it as you could. 

The only other occupant of the little knapsack was your English textbook, which you laid next to you. Ladybug wasn’t around to lecture you on “clues to your identity” and you really did have studying to do. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone was going to come up here. It was your turn to patrol, and you knew how much Ladybug and Chat Noir needed time off (how did they survive protecting the whole of Paris before you came along?). And if all that failed you, you always did have a theory on why no one could identify Paris’s greatest heroes.

Magic.

  
Anyway.

To get in your ‘English’ mode, you scrolled through your iPod until you finally found the perfect song. Partition, by Beyonce. The song selected, you settled it on the space next to you as the backpack was overturned in search of your headphones. It was a quiet night (relatively) and you really didn’t want to take the chance of alerting anyone to your presence, security guard or otherwise.

The lack of headphones was disappointing, but not surprising.

You resolved to put it on the lowest volume you could without needing to strain to hear it. 

Humming to yourself, you pressed play and proceeded to bob your head to the rhythm of the music.

“[ _Drums!]”_

_“[Driver, roll up the partition, please.]”_

_“[Partition, please.]”_

You swung your feet as the song progressed, too absorbed in your notes to notice the black-suited figure slinking up to you through the shadows. At the sound of the music, the figure cocked its head before grinning and sitting down next to you. 

“Bonjour, mon cherie.” 

You nearly screamed. Even so, you let out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp before lashing out to the side, which the figure just barely dodged. 

“Chat Noir! God, you _know_ I hate it when you do that!” He chuckled as you aimed a half-hearted punch toward his shoulder. Shaking your head, you hit the pause, albeit reluctantly. Maybe it was the bass, but the song felt empowering. In a weird way. Beyonce just brought up a lot of feelings. Mostly awe. 

“How are you feline, cherie? I haven’t seen you around lately and considering our hiss-tory, you’d think you would’ve told meow if anything was wrong.” Despite the puns that slapped you in the face like a wet fish, you could tell that he actually was fairly concerned. It was true, you hadn’t been out and about as much as you’d liked in your miraculous form, but . . . you just never had enough _time_ lately. Between studying for school (you still weren’t sure you would or could score above a ten at the end of the year and you _really_ didn’t want to be held back) and your other responsibilities . . .

It was tough. Certainly stressful, though you had never quite toed that line that would lead you to get akumatized. 

“I’m - Life is just..really con-furr-sing right meow.” And as stressful as it was you felt so energized and happy in this moment, with Chat.

Chat. 

He was like your angel. Laughing and joking with you, trying to lighten the mood even after not hearing from you in…had it been an entire week already? Wow. 

You felt like a bad friend. 

You shook your head as Chat chuckled at your puns. The conversation drifted. No expectations, nothing stressful. Just two friends shooting the shit and empathizing with each other’s problems. It felt liberating. Your shoulders relaxed and you tucked your books back into your backpack as you leaned back against the girders, completely missing the way Chat’s eyes lingered on the textbook. 

There was a lull (you resisted the urge to lean against Chat). The sound of beeping horns and heightened voices drifted back.

_"[Driver roll up the partition, please.]”_

“Oo, what is this? I like it.” 

“Mm, it’s an American song by Beyonce. My friend recommended it to me and they have a good taste in music so . . . ” You shrugged. “I thought I’d give it a try. I really love the song so far.” 

His feet swung in tandem with yours as you turned the volume up. 

“[ _Handprints and footprints on my glass, handprints and good grips all on ma ass.]”_ You blushed as your eyes widened, darting to look at Chat. He didn’t seem affected by the risqué lyrics at all. As far as you knew, he didn’t know how to speak English and you thanked your lucky fucking stars.

Good god, this song was good though. 

“[ _Chauffer eavesdroppin’ tryin’ not ta crash.]”_

Relieved, you relaxed and went back to bobbing your head with the beat of the song. 

But, oh. Oh, lord you were not prepared.

You should not have relaxed. 

“Est-ce que le sexe? Le sexe. Je veux dire, l’activité physique. Le coit. Tu aimes ça? Tu ne t’intéresses pas au sexe?” (Do you like sex? Sex. I mean, the physical activity. Coitus. Do you like it? You're not interested in sex?)   
  
Your neck was on fire, and out of the corner of your eye you could see that Chat had stiffened. Well, shit.   
  
You scrambled for your iPod, regret welling up when you registered the placement. Why had you put it between the two of you. Between the mortification and the proximity to the edge of the platform (how would you explain to your parents the smithereens-that-used-to-be-an-iPod), you may as well have been a Kerrygold factory because your hands were just blocks of butter.

It was like everything was happening in slow motion — you, lunging for the iPod that didn’t seem to be hindered at all and kept spewing out the lyrics that you couldn’t bring yourself to hate because. Well. Beyonce.   
  
"Les hommes pensent que les féministes détestent le sexe, mais c’est une activité très stimulante et naturelle que les femmes adorent.” (Men think that feminists hate sex, but it's a very stimulating and natural activity that women love.)  
  
Finally, you’d gotten your hands on your phone.

The silence in the wake of everything weighed on you.

Neither of you were willing to make the first move. Your life was still flashing before your eyes (Chat still wasn’t sure how to react). It ended in a predictable way — getting killed by an akuma. Hey, you went out in a blaze of glory so that was awesome.

Finally, your soul reentered your body and a fresh wave of heat washed over you. An awkward cough descended into awkward giggles that evolved into full-blown, snorting laughter (you think you just learned more about sex from that song than anything your parents had ever told you). Chat was doubled over next to you, choking on air and sending you into a new wave of laughs.

When you finally manage to breathe again, you feel shaky and slump against the girder.   
  
Chat Noir shakes his head and turns to you, the ever-present flirtatious grin back on his face despite the tears of laughter in his eyes. His face was still red as fuck, though.   
  
“So, who’s the friend that recommended the song to you, or are you trying to tell meow something?” The half hearted attempt at cat puns reignites your blush and you stuff the iPod back into the backpack.

You shake your head. “If I try and catcall you, you’ll know, kitty.”

The nickname has Chat on the back foot, and he stares at you with something akin to what you see him staring at Ladybug with. Wow, your heart was beating awfully fast.

“It’s late. I’ll see you later, kitty.”   
  
Chat watches as you bound away over the rooftops. The flirtatious grin drops, a goofy smile taking its place as he flops back onto the roof.


End file.
